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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055412">The King's Goose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/pseuds/Castillon02'>Castillon02</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer'>greedy_dancer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Broken Curses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Audio Book, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Bets &amp; Wagers, Collaboration, Community: pod_together, Download Available, Geese, Humor, M/M, Music, Podfic, Podfic &amp; Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Singing, The Skellige Isles (The Witcher), bloopers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:40:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/pseuds/Castillon02, https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The King of Skellige's pet goose has been acting strangely; Geralt bets that his bard can figure out the problem.</p><p>(A story and its audio performance -- 36 min.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Broken Curses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Pod_Together 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The King's Goose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This collaborative work was created for pod_together 2020. Thanks to the mods for running this wonderful challenge!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>

</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="content"><ul>
<li><span class="big"><b><a href="https://bit.ly/3j7Wocd">Click here to stream or right-click + 'save as' to downoad as an mp3</a></b></span></li>
<li><span class="big"><b><a href="https://bit.ly/3hoiOWj">Click here to download as an audiobook (m4b)</a></b></span></li>
</ul><p>
    <span class="big"><br/>
<b>Details</b><br/>
</span>
  </p>
<ul>
<li>
<b>Length:</b> 0:35:47</li>
<li>
<b>File size:</b> 23Mo</li>
</ul><p>
    <span class="big"><br/>
<b>Credits</b><br/>
</span>
  </p>
<ul>
<li>
<b>Story by:</b> Castillon02 (with input from greedy_dancer)</li>
<li>
<b>Podfic &amp; cover art by:</b> greedy_dancer (with input from Castillon02)</li>
<li><a href="https://www.europeana.eu/de/item/92093/BibliographicResource_1000086161026">Cover art 'goose'</a></li>
<li>
<b>Hosting by:</b> Paraka</li>
</ul><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A lovely plush feather mattress, a little cask of mead in their guest room, entire villages full of beautiful strapping redheads—why hadn’t they visited Skellige before?</p><p>“Jaskier. I am not joking. If you insult someone, they <em>will</em> make you fight them at dawn if they don’t immediately punch you in the face.” Jaskier felt the back of his doublet bunch up as Geralt grabbed him and swung him away from the cask of mead to face him. “Do <em>not</em> call someone a moldy cockrag at this feast.” Geralt glared at him.</p><p>Jaskier smiled. “What about a cockrag that’s as fresh as a cum-striped daisy?”</p><p>Geralt flicked his ear, but he couldn’t hide the little upwards twitch at one corner of his mouth.</p><p>“All right, not that. What if I challenge them to a duel of words?” Jaskier asked, undaunted.</p><p>Geralt let go of him and actually seemed to consider this. “That could work if they let you choose the weapon,” he said seriously. “Keep it under your doublet as a backup plan. If someone challenges you to a fight, the weapon you want is words, understand?” He really did look a little anxious, in his Geralt way—his shoulders bunching tighter, his thumb rubbing against the spots where Roach’s reins had imprinted calluses on his fingers, marking him as hers just as much as she was his.</p><p>Jaskier patted Geralt on the shoulder. “Geralt. My darling Witcher. Despite all appearances to the contrary, I value my continued life and I want these people to hire me and pay me. I promise to be on my very best behavior and not embarrass you in front of your friends,” he said.</p><p>(That was another good thing about Skellige! Geralt actually had friends! Well, at least one—Crach an Craite, the clan chieftan who was hosting them.)</p><p>“You’ll be on your very best behavior, or...?” Geralt asked, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>Jaskier flushed. They had started this tradition after bitching each other out about Cintra, setting consequences for each other’s stupidity, and it never failed to make him think of terrible sexy things that he absolutely couldn’t ask for. “Or… I’ll clean half your armor after your next hunt,” he said. “Until it’s Geralt-clean, not Jaskier-clean.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt waited.</p><p>“The whole armor, then,” Jaskier grumbled.</p><p>Geralt nodded. “Fine. And if I do something stupid?”</p><p>“You write me a poem,” Jaskier said immediately.</p><p>Geralt groaned.</p><p>“I could make it a sonnet,” Jaskier threatened. “I can already see your plan to try to get away with a couplet! You can’t hide your intentions behind those cat’s eyes of yours!”</p><p>“A limerick,” Geralt bargained. “Skelligers like limericks.”</p><p>“Two limericks,” Jaskier said. “With the emphasis on the correct syllables.” When no objection was forthcoming, he said, “All right, we have a bargain, Master Witcher. We’re going to go to this feast, we’re going to be exemplary guests, and nothing will go wrong!”</p><p>—</p><p>To be fair, it wasn’t their fault that things went wrong.</p><p>It was the goose’s fault. First, it had honked through his entire set, somehow at just the right points to disrupt his rhythm. Then Jaskier had leaned down to talk to it. “Sir Goose,” he had said, “I fear that you may be tone deaf. However, you still have proved inspir—”</p><p>“Honk,” the goose had said, and it had bitten down on Jaskier’s lute strings and refused to let go.</p><p>Everything had happened very quickly after that.</p><p>“Look,” Jaskier told King Bran and the other irate Skelligers, “it tried to steal my lute. I need that lute! And it’s not like I hurt it.” He hadn’t even touched the goose at first—he had only lifted his lute, which the goose had still been biting. Then the goose had flown at his face, batting at him with its wings, and Jaskier didn’t go in for that sort of thing, so now he was holding the goose tucked firmly under his arm and trying not to think of this as a hostage situation. This was made difficult by the fact that he and Geralt were surrounded by half-drunk people who were pointing swords in their general direction.</p><p>Bizarrely, the goose was making no move to escape despite the flapping ruckus it had put up earlier when Jaskier had dared to take his lute—his own lute!—back from its thieving beak. Its webbed feet rested in the notch of Jaskier’s hip and it peered quietly around the banquet hall from its new perch.</p><p>“It’s forbidden to touch the king’s goose!” one Skelliger said.</p><p>“You have to realize that sounds like a euphemism,” Jaskier said flatly, which got him a couple of quickly stifled giggles from the back of the room. Goose, loose, seduce—might be a little ditty in that.</p><p>“Jaskier, shut up,” Geralt said next to him. “King Bran, the goose is cursed.” He held up his wolf medallion, which was vibrating.</p><p>Thank fuck. “See? Look at the medallion!” Jaskier said. “It does NOT wobble around non-cursed geese!”</p><p>“So?” King Bran asked, finally speaking up from his throne. A sea-gnarled man with a thick gray beard, his eyes were narrowed with impatience.</p><p>“So I’m not threatening your pet goose,” Jaskier said. “I’m...holding it...so that Geralt can investigate it better.” He glared at the Skelligers around him. They might have let their king get his soul sucked by his cursed goose, and they had the gall to be angry? They should be commissioning a statue titled ‘Jaskier and the time he saved a king’s life’!</p><p>King Bran might have felt the same, or possibly he just got bored, because he gestured and the circle of pissed off Skelligers surr ounding Jaskier and Geralt lowered their swords. “Hmm,” King Bran said. “He has been acting oddly today. Bounder, are you unwell? Come to papa.” He held out his hands.</p><p>The goose squirmed out from under Jaskier’s arm and flapped in the opposite direction, honking its way towards freedom.</p><p>King Bran gasped. “Bounder! No!”</p><p>Jaskier dove after it, grabbing a handy stretch of cloth on the way, and soon had the goose swaddled like an infant. There! One goose, safe and sound as a solstice gift. Nobody could possibly complain. He beamed at the King.</p><p>“You’ve trapped my favorite goose in our most sacred shawl,” King Bran said.</p><p>Jaskier drooped.</p><p>“Joking,” King Bran said. “It’s a table rag. You just looked so smug that I couldna help myself.” He turned to Geralt, who had found a mug of Skelligan cheer to keep him company while observing his poor bard’s antics. “Witcher, if you can find out what has befallen poor Bounder, we shall pay you well. I raised him from a wee gosling, and it would hurt me sorely if anything should happen to him.”</p><p>Geralt nodded. “I can investigate,” he said.</p><p>“Good!” King Bran clapped his hands. “For now, however, Bounder will return to his bed, and we shall continue our evening of celebrations. Jaskier the bard has acted nimbly,” to save his own hide as well as Bounder’s, the king implied with the wry twist of his eyebrows, “and Geralt has favored us with his insight, so we must show them our best Skelligan hospitality! Aye?”</p><p>“AYE!” The Skelligers raised their mugs and cheered. Well, mostly they cheered. There were a few disappointed groans from people who had wanted some nice bloodshed with their meal. They were a beautiful, warlike people, Skelligers. Part of Jaskier wanted to stay with them for a year; the other, larger part of him wanted to live.</p><p>—</p><p>The next morning, Jaskier and Geralt were on Goose Duty. They were led into the King’s study, where Bounder sat innocently on Bran’s lap, Bran’s liver-spotted bear paw of a hand resting across Bounder’s barred grey and white plumage.</p><p>Bran was called The Conqueror, for he had united the Skellige Isles together, but even a king couldn’t conquer the effects of time. Age had worn grooves into his face, and faded circles ringed his eyes like the silver crown ringed his brow. Jaskier had even heard some gossip that Bran might pass the crown of King to his brother Eist in Cintra soon, with Crach taking over as the Jarl, Skellige’s military commander.</p><p>“Let Bounder go where he wants and do as he pleases,” Bran instructed them, “but keep him from harm and bring him back to me before sunset.” He stroked Bounder’s back. “He’s been slower recently. I thought it was just—but you’ll figure out this curse business, won’t you, Witcher?”</p><p>Geralt nodded. “I will.”</p><p>“What does Bounder usually like to do?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>Bran gave him an approving nod. “He has a pond he likes to visit, and a wee friend he romances,” he said. “Sometimes he’ll go to town to have a snack, or he’ll eat with the cattle in their pasture. That sort of thing. He’s a good lad; he won’t give you any trouble.”</p><p>—</p><p>The goose gave them nothing but trouble.</p><p>“Is this your first cursed fowl?” Jaskier asked as they trailed behind their waddling charge, who was strangely intent on crossing a sheep field.</p><p>“First cursed goose,” Geralt said.</p><p>“And do cursed birds usually try to commit suicide by dog?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>As he and Geralt watched, the goose waddled up to a beautifully fluffy, peacefully sleeping sheepdog, its fur the color of snow. Bounder looked at the dog for a long moment. “Honk,” said Bounder.</p><p>“Woof,” said the dog.</p><p>“Fuck,” said Jaskier.</p><p>And then the goose bit the dog on the nose. In the ensuing ruckus, Jaskier ended up with a <em>Quen</em>-protected goose scrabbling at the top of his head while Geralt held the dog back by its scruff.</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt said, looking at them with a smirking expression that Jaskier had learned to fear. Oh, gods, Geralt had remembered that he had a sense of humor.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “remember how I’m your very best friend and how I bitch like a wet griffin when a dog bites me?”</p><p>“Better run fast then, bard,” Geralt said, and he let the dog go.</p><p>“I hate you so much,” Jaskier panted, shoving Bounder under his arm as he ran. The curses that he muttered afterwards were lost under Bounder’s indignant honking.</p><p>—</p><p>Traveling through town, the goose did its level best to bite any admirers who approached it to give it a treat; it had apparently figured out that this resulted in food being dropped and irritating people running away. To be fair to the goose, Jaskier would also consider biting people if those were the rewards he got. In fact, he was considering biting people now, because everyone in town seemed to have a Bounder-related story that they wanted to share with him, and Jaskier could only hear about the eel incident so many times.</p><p>“And him always such a gentlebird!” one merchant said, clutching his wounded hand to his chest. “Never in twenty years has he offered to bite me! Why, one day he—”</p><p>“He’s cursed,” Jaskier said cheerfully, heading off the anecdote. At this point, he and Bounder had come to a breadcrumb-based understanding, and so long as someone else was on the receiving end of Bounder’s monstrous tongue-teeth, the biting was pretty funny. Besides, the merchant had given Geralt a dirty look yesterday.</p><p>...Actually, there had also been a couple of men in the pub yesterday who had said that foreigners should go back and suck at the Continent’s tit, and they had made Geralt fight them even though Geralt hated fighting humans. “Suddenly I’m thirsty,” Jaskier announced. He threw a crumb of bread in the pub’s direction. He and his cursed, legally untouchable goose had some people to torment.</p><p>—</p><p>The goose spent a long afternoon biting people who hated Witchers, and learned to identify Jaskier’s targets with frightening ease. Jaskier spent a long afternoon singing mocking songs about people who were afraid of a goose, and who would definitely need a Witcher to help them with the simplest of siren-slayings, if only those people’s supposed honor would allow them to ask for the aid of the very person they had derided. Geralt spent <em>his</em> afternoon pretending not to know ‘those two menaces,’ as one particular merchant had called them, and strategically yanking Jaskier to safety.</p><p>(Geralt had had to do the latter less and less as the day progressed, because Bounder developed a habit of flying onto Jaskier’s shoulder and hissing when people got too irate. No one dared to touch Jaskier when he was under the royal goose’s protection.)</p><p>For a calm end to an energetic day, they visited Bounder’s regular pond, where a local suggested that a cuddle with his ‘wee love’ would do the bird good. Jaskier nudged the goose in the right direction. As soon as they were within beating distance of each other, the ‘wee love’ tore upon Bounder with a flurry of wing slaps. Bounder fled over to the opposite edge of the pond and nipped at the grass there instead.</p><p>“Do you think that counts as letting harm come to him?” Jaskier asked idly. He sat on the grass near his charge.</p><p>“I think Bran sometimes plans another sea raid so that he and his wife don’t have to live together,” Geralt said, sitting next to him.</p><p>Jaskier considered how much Bran loved his pet goose. He considered whether Bran would let his precious Bounder be in a romance similar to his own marriage. Finally, he considered that Bounder was meant to be over twenty years old. He winced. “Ooh, that’s definitely not Bounder, is it?”</p><p>Geralt tilted his head in agreement. “Wondered how long it would take you,” he said, and then he smirked. “Crach owes us another cask of mead.”</p><p>“You bet on how long you could deceive me?” Jaskier asked, wanting to be outraged but mostly proud of Geralt for engaging in such an excellent friend-activity with someone.</p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p>“So is that just another goose glamored to look like the king’s pet, or…?”</p><p>“Or,” Geralt agreed.</p><p>Jaskier swung his lute into his lap and plucked out a chord like the honk of a goose. Bounder had to be a shapeshifter, but what kind? Oh, wouldn’t shape-changing be lovely? To be able to run on all fours like Roach, soar like an albatross, wriggle his nose like a rabbit— “Do you think a shapeshifter has a true form?” Jaskier asked. “Or are they all equally authentic?”</p><p>Geralt shrugged.</p><p>“Or does your animal have to do with your personality?” Jaskier wondered. “Would I turn into a peacock because I’m vain, and whoever turned into Bounder is a troublemaker?”</p><p>In the pond, Fake Bounder honked indignantly.</p><p>“A delightful troublemaker!” Jaskier assured him. “The best I have ever had the privilege of accompanying! I have already started composing an Untitled Goose Ballad.”</p><p>The goose lifted a wing and started grooming, apparently appeased.</p><p>Geralt cleared his throat. “About that,” he said. “You’re performing for King Bran tonight. Telling him what happened to his goose.”</p><p>Jaskier froze except for his idly strumming fingers. “Oh, am I?” he asked. “And you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier? You couldn’t have maybe, possibly, potentially mentioned that I would have to compose a song to tell a royal who could cut off my head—or worse, cut off my cock!—that his beloved pet is dead? And that instead of just telling the king and having a funeral, his favorite chieftain conspired with a Witcher to have a shape shifter friend impersonate said pet, and then that shape shifter <em>did a terrible job</em>?”</p><p>In the pond, Fake Bounder flapped its wings at him.</p><p>“No!” Jaskier told it. “Don’t pretend like you would win any theatre awards! I’ve heard nothing all day but accusations that ‘good old Bounder’ is acting wildly out of character!”</p><p>The goose turned its back on him, visibly sulking.</p><p>“What was your exit strategy even going to be?” Jaskier demanded. “Were you going to have Fake Bounder pretend to die a heroic death so he could have a warrior’s funeral?”</p><p>Geralt perked up. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said.</p><p>Jaskier glared at him.</p><p>After a long moment, Geralt said, “Pretty sure Crach was drunk on fairy-wine when he came up with the whole thing. Just wanted to avoid forcing Bran to confront his own mortality. He asked me to help him, and now I’m asking you.” Geralt put his hand on Jaskier’s knee and did his best impression of a pleading look.</p><p>It wasn’t a very good impression. Jaskier laughed. “Don’t lie; your lovely Witcher brain has already come up with three different solutions to this problem. But you made another bet with Crach, didn’t you?” he asked.</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “We can split the profits fifty-fifty,” he said.</p><p>“And I’m not cleaning your armor since last night’s excitement was partly your fault,” Jaskier said. “And you’re on goose duty for the rest of the night while I go sit in my room and compose.”</p><p>Geralt raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t even asked what I bet on.”</p><p>“Then this will be a real gamble for you, won’t it?” Jaskier said. “Let’s see how well you know your bard.”</p><p>—</p><p>Dinner was more intimate, at least, now that it wasn’t also a welcome banquet. Jaskier ate well; if he were going to be shoved into prison or keelhauled or whatever Skelligers did to impudent bards, then he might as well enjoy himself while he could.</p><p>“Master bard?” King Bran asked, lifting his ashen eyebrows. “Crach has told me that you might have resolved the mystery of my goose.” His glare said, <em>This had better be good</em>.</p><p>Luckily for the king, Jaskier was better than good. He was the best. Also, he had taken an elective on Skelligan elegies.</p><p>The song he sang honored Bounder as a pet who loyally waddled behind his king and fiercely protected him from ‘strangers’; as a community member, bringing smiles to the faces of all who fed him and heard his goosy honk; and as a devoted goose husband to his partner in the pond.</p><p>Grief clouded Bran’s face from the first elegiac stanza, but not surprise. Somewhere inside, he had to have known that Fake Bounder was not really his goose. The old king still had his wits.</p><p>
    <em>The ring-giver felt the pang of grief in his heart </em><br/>
<em>But knew his friend faced one last task ahead. </em><br/>
<em>Could his people be trusted to see with more than their eyes</em><br/>
<em>Or would they swan around a goose that was dead? </em>
  </p><p>
    <em>Bran the bear-battler brought a shifter of shapes<br/>
To take the form of the king’s dear feathered fighter. <br/>
Only Crach an Craite conceived of such a change,<br/>
And asked a Witcher to save Skellige’s Uniter.</em>
  </p><p>
    <em>Long after he had been taken by eternal sea, <br/>
Bounder helped his king with one last goosely duty.  </em>
  </p><p>The king’s guests stared at King Bran. Stared at Jaskier. Stared at the goose next to the king, who definitely looked alive.</p><p>Fake Bounder honked a honk that sounded a lot like laughter, flapped into the air, and flew out of the room.</p><p>King Bran leveled a long look at Jaskier. Jaskier did his best to look innocent, which he was! Because this fake goose nonsense hadn’t been his idea at all!</p><p>“A most inspired recital, Jaskier the Bard,” the king finally said. “And a true one. To Bounder!” He raised his glass.</p><p>“To Bounder!” everyone echoed, though Jaskier only mouthed the words; he had exhaled all the air in his lungs in a sigh of relief.</p><p>“And Crach,” King Bran said, his voice dangerously pleasant, “you have certainly earned a...consideration. We will talk. Now.”</p><p>Crach and Geralt stepped forward together from their spot by the door—hoping to make a run for it if things hadn’t gone well? But instead of accompanying Crach to his royal doom, Geralt split off to join Jaskier, his hand going to Jaskier’s shoulder, and he guided Jaskier out of the hall.</p><p>“So?” Jaskier asked. “Did I do well?” He guessed he had; there was a visible spring in Geralt’s step. But he wanted to hear Geralt say it.</p><p>“That’s two bets you’ve won me,” Geralt confirmed as they walked. He grinned and patted a heavy coin pouch at his hip. “One to go.”</p><p>Another one? “You’re not serious!” Jaskier said. “Last time you bet on a song to the king. What are the stakes this time?”</p><p>“High,” Geralt said, looking as pleased as a fake goose that had shit on someone’s shoe. (And Jaskier would know.)</p><p>A moment later, Jaskier’s mind snagged on a memory of playing gwent with Geralt. Geralt didn’t like bad odds or high stakes when he gambled. He got enough of that with the monsters, he said.</p><p>They were only a few feet away from the door to Jaskier’s room, but Jaskier stopped walking. “Wait, wait,” he said.</p><p>Geralt turned to look at him.</p><p>Jaskier reviewed the day in his head. Geralt letting a dog chase him? Fine. (The dog had licked more than it had bit, and Geralt had enjoyed wrestling it off Jaskier in the end.) Geralt acting long-suffering but really being secretly amused about having his honor defended by a goose and a bard? Yes. Geralt springing an opportunity to perform on him instead of letting him worry about it all day? Absolutely in character, the considerate fuck.</p><p>Geralt grinning? Geralt looking like a mischievous goose? There was only one good reason for that.</p><p>“<em>You</em>,” Jaskier breathed. He backed away from Fake Geralt, who was grinning again. “What did you do with my Witcher? GERAL—”</p><p>Real Geralt stepped out of Jaskier’s door. He wasn’t grinning, thank the gods, but he looked coolly satisfied, the way he did after a hunt that had gone perfectly.</p><p>Jaskier knew then, without a doubt, that he had done everything right. This was going to be fine. He let himself breathe.</p><p>Geralt gestured them both inside, so they went. It was strange—Jaskier had always thought that two Geralts would be hot. There were Dopplers who did that, and a lonely bard might fantasize about these things when he woke up in the early hours of the morning. But all he could focus on when he looked at the other Geralt were the flaws in the mold, the way things didn’t quite match.</p><p>It felt wrong. Uncanny. He kept the real Geralt in between himself and the pretender.</p><p>“Change back into yourself,” Geralt said, putting a reassuring hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, just where Not-Geralt had touched him before.</p><p>“Do I have a true self? Or are all of my selves true? Your bard asked some good questions earlier.” As the shape-shifter spoke, they changed, their body rounding, their hair and armor darkening to an iridescent black, until in front of them stood a tall, plump woman wearing a raven-feather dress. She gave them that same mischievous grin, and it crinkled the laugh lines around her eyes.</p><p>“This is Skolva,” Geralt introduced him. “She’s a púca, and a friend of Crach’s. You just won a present from her.”</p><p>“Because I’m so clever?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>“Because she’s a bad actor,” Geralt said.</p><p>“And because you were clever,” Skolva said. She tilted her head at him. “Ravens like clever.”</p><p>Jaskier kind of wanted to get on his knees and show her how clever his tongue could be, but the moment the idea occurred to him, the thought that she might change into Not-Geralt while he was down there sent the bad kind of shiver down his spine. The only Geralt he wanted to bed was the real one. “Ah, you mentioned a present?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>“You’ll like it,” Geralt assured him.</p><p>Skolva smiled at him. “I heard you wondered what it was like to be a shapeshifter,” she said. “How would you like to have a very minor curse put on you tomorrow? The animal of your choice.” She opened her hand as if welcoming infinite possibility.</p><p>Jaskier gaped. “You—really?”</p><p>“It’s easily reversible,” Geralt said. “I made Crach test it out while you were composing.” He had his earnest face on. He genuinely wanted Jaskier to like this.</p><p>Jaskier genuinely, really did like it—fucking tits, he was going to write the best song about it—but also it felt as if his lungs were closing up in his chest like a flower at night.</p><p>He did things for Geralt all the time: social currency things, talking things, buying-that-thing-you-secretly-want things. Today he had done a saving-Geralt’s-best-friend-from-his-stupid-goose-plan thing, which was ridiculous but not even in his top five most bizarre Geralt-related incidents. And it wasn’t one-sided. Geralt did things for him, too: woodcraft things, monster things, life-saving things, fleeing-the-scene-of-the-fuck things. Today he had bought Jaskier pasties from one of the bakers he and Bounder had harassed. They had a rhythm.</p><p>Their rhythm didn’t include really amazing presents. Except today, apparently, it did. Today, which had been a day full of tricks and mischief.</p><p>Jaskier squinted at Geralt.</p><p>“Ah,” Geralt said, seeming amused at his hesitation. “How did you know I wasn’t me, Jaskier?”</p><p>That was an easy one. “Because you looked happy,” Jaskier said. His hands made a circle in the air. “Not like—it’s just—some people’s happiness is like a round bubble, you know, where anyone can see it and try to pop it. Hers is like that. Mine is like that. Yours is different.” Geralt kept his joy safe inside, where only people who knew how to look for it could find it. (And Geralt himself was not always one of those people.)</p><p>“And how do you know that I’m me now, and not a Doppler?” Geralt asked.</p><p>Jaskier considered this for a long moment. Geralt’s shoulders: slightly less stiff than usual. Geralt’s mouth: tilted upwards the tiniest bit. Geralt’s eyes: unwrinkled, not glaring. Geralt’s arms: hanging loose at his side.</p><p>Geralt was happy. So happy he wanted to share it. No Doppler would think to imitate that.</p><p>“No,” Jaskier said, his eyes wide. “Did you, Geralt of Rivia, actually have a good day?”</p><p>Geralt’s mouth twisted wryly. “Had to happen sometime.”</p><p>It was hard to ignore that for the most part, Geralt had spent the day with Jaskier. He made Geralt happy. Joy swooped up into Jaskier’s chest like a goose startled into flight, and he had to clasp his hands together to keep the feeling inside.</p><p>“So,” Skolva said, rolling her shoulders and looking between them. “Which animal? You’re lucky you figured it out, you know; I was going to turn your Witcher into a rabbit for a day if you didn’t.” Briefly, her beaky nose shrank, bunny-button-like, and twitched.</p><p>“Low risk, high reward,” Geralt said, apparently unbothered. “Best kind of bet.”</p><p>Jaskier considered his options while they spoke. Not a cat; he couldn’t bear it if Geralt got to pet him and then no other cats for the rest of his life. But there was another obvious choice. He told her, adding, “Not the same color, you understand. No need to confuse anyone.”</p><p>“Excellent decision,” Skolva said, smiling slyly.</p><p>“Knew you’d want to fly,” Geralt said.</p><p>Geralt was the best person Jaskier had ever met, and Jaskier did want to fly, but he also wanted to convey to Geralt just how wonderful and horrible today’s adventure had been. There was an easy, anserine way to do that.</p><p>—</p><p>The next day, Jaskier woke up and found out what it felt like to stretch his wings. It was a beautiful day in Skellige and he was a wonderful, horrible goose.</p></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading and listening! </p><p>Writer's notes: </p><p>This story was loosely inspired by an Irish folktale called "King O'Toole and his Goose," which you can read here: https://folkli.com/king-otoole-and-st-kevin-a-local-legend-of-glendalough-ireland. Thank you so much to Greedy_Dancer for inviting me to the Pod_Together fun, and for being an amazing partner to work with. </p><p>Podficcer's notes:</p><p>I rambled quite a lot at the end of the file already, but in short: I had so much fun throughout the whole process, thank you to Cas for answering my random Tumblr ask, agreeing to do this with me and being so open to true collaboration!</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30297429">HMMM - Or, the AU where everything is the same except every time Geralt says "hmmm", it's the Wilhelm Scream.</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress">Chantress</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaReads">LenaReads (LenaLawlipop)</a>
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